Unmasked
by Megknsis
Summary: Fleeing for his life, Erik becomes lost in the tunnels and stumbles out into the forsaken mountains of a distant country, where he stumbles upon another lost soul. I'm rating T just to be safe...
1. Chapter 1

Unmasked

…**I swear to God I have a thing for using the word mask in a title. I didn't plan it.**

**Yes, I'm still working on Mask…never fear. I just wanted to publish this because I felt like it, and the idea came into my head. And yes…you read the tags right. It's a crossover between Frozen and Phantom of the Opera…don't laugh. I just decided to go for it. I also published this on Wattpad, because that's where my friend reads things, and she begged me to…and I figured I'd publish it here, as well. You guys all have a right to read this as well…so here goes.**

**I own zip. Zero. Nada. In other words, nothing!**

Chapter 1

Erik ought to have been able to find his way.

He'd lived in these tunnels all his life, and he could keep his head in the near-total darkness of the twisting passages, lit only by the sputtering torch he carried. But his head wasn't very clear now.

Erik swore as his shin met a small rock projecting directly upward, which of course he hadn't seen till the last second. He barely avoided tripping and limped on, cursing in all of the few ways he knew how, but he almost welcomed the pain which raced up his leg. It helped him forget, if only for a few precious moments, about the mental anguish which threatened to drive him insane. If he hadn't gone insane already. And he'd seriously considered the possibility, sometimes in the past few hours.

In the dank, twisting labyrinth, all he saw was Christine's face, and all he heard were her words of love, the ones he'd longed to hear for so many desolate years. Only the cruelest fate would have torn them apart at that moment. But he had heard the distant shouts, saw the flickering of the torches far away but drawing near, and he knew he had to run for it or perish.

_I should have taken her with me. I should have asked her, begged her to come, but no. I am a fool, a damned, awful fool. I should have brought Christine._

Erik shook his head in a vain effort not to think about that. Even if he turned back now and found his way back to his living space, all he would find were the vengeful searchers destroying his organ, tearing up his music, and his own death at their hands. Though that might be welcome now, it wouldn't accomplish the one thing he wanted most; to find Christine and change her mind.

He couldn't explain what made him urge her to stay, flee through his mirror, and leave the only woman he'd ever cared about behind. The same urge which had led him to hide his face, the same fear which for years had made him unable even to show his masked form to Christine, was the same one which made him drive her away. He couldn't have her now, not after all that had happened, all he had done. She had just kissed him to save Raoul's life, not out of love for him.

The thought would have made him smile, if his broken heart had allowed for a smile. That was what it must have been, of course. How could any woman with eyes bear to even take a second look at his mangled, hideous features, let alone live with him, and them?

Erik brushed his hand savagely across his eyes. He thought he had shed all the tears his eyes could produce in…how long had he been in these tunnels? Minutes? An hour? A day? Longer than that? He had totally lost track of time.

Suddenly he saw a door, only a few feet ahead. He stumbled towards it. It ought to be the one leading…north. He wasn't sure exactly where it let out; for once, he, the Phantom of the Opera, who ought to know each and every single tunnel and passage beneath Paris, was totally lost. He had no clue where he would come out. Nor did he particularly care, so long as he could hide his face and his cursed name.

He automatically reached up to make sure his mask was in place, then cursed for the hundredth time that night as he realized it was gone. Christine—of course. Christine had torn off his mask back in the opera house in front of everyone.

The memory still seared and throbbed with the agony of supreme humiliation. He had kept his face hidden for decades. When he first went into hiding, he vowed no one would ever see his face without a mask again. He would not be an object of horror and amusement—not again. He couldn't bear the thought that anyone would see his face, and know him for the monster he was, not until Christine came.

She had been the first one he had thought could lead him out of his lonely existence. She alone understood him, and for a while he had dared to dream she cared for him…the way he cared for her. And then the woman he loved, trusted, more than he did any other living being, exposed his deepest, darkest secret; exposed _him, _the self he'd run from all his life. She had wounded him more deeply than anyone had since his childhood.

"Shut up," Erik muttered through his teeth as he reached the door and started to struggle with the bolts. The heavy, ancient wood groaned and refused to yield. "Get out of my head, damn you, get out!"

The next second, he felt horrible. How could he curse Christine? Even if she had broken his heart and stepped on his dignity, he couldn't say a bad word against her. Gritting his teeth, he pushed back the bolt with all his strength, and the door yielded to his efforts.

Erik cringed back in instinctive terror from the door which slowly, creakily swung wide, remembering in time, but then he breathed a sigh of relief. Stars twinkled silently at him and cold, crisp night air flowed into the black, musty tunnel. He could see no people, no houses, not a light in sight. Nothing but a silent, snowy landscape as far as the eye could see.

Erik hesitated, then stepped out of the tunnel. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths. His chest swelled with the sharp, frigid air. He closed his eyes and felt tears leak down his cheeks, turning cold on his face.

He opened his eyes and glared up at the stars. They shone brighter than anything he'd seen in forever, the cold making them all the clearer. Clear as Christine's eyes, her ringing voice…

Erik couldn't hold it together any more. He had been able to stay sane up till now. His courage, a modicum of sanity and a small, yet still indomitable will to live had sustained him up to this point, pushing him forward. But now he had reached his destination, and the full realization of his loss crushed him to the ground. He had escaped, and now he had nowhere to go, nothing to look forward to, nothing to live for ever again.

He crumpled to the ground and covered his face with his hands, loud, convulsive childlike sobs breaking out of him like the whimpering moans of some pathetic animal, alone and in pain, giving voice to its agony in the only way it knew how. He buried his face in the soft, powdery snow, feeling the cold seep into his face, and his tears and saliva mingling with the white purity, contaminating it. He dug his fingers into his face, driving his nails in and leaving small red crescents. His face was hideous enough, it had ruined him. It had taken away everything and everyone he loved. Why could he not strip it off like the mask he'd always worn?

_It isn't a mask. It's who I am. I am ugly as my face. My soul is twisted, stained black and red. I am a monster. An outcast, a devil's child. They were right. They were all right._

Suddenly, something settled over him light as the wing of a huge butterfly. He started up, gazing wildly around. He thought someone had found him, someone had come for him. Even here, even now he couldn't be alone with his grief.

But instead of a curious face which would twist and expand as the intruder broke into a terrified scream, he saw…nothing.

Erik turned and looked all around, and then as he sat up a little and gazed in surprise. A dark, royal purple cloth, someone's cloak or cape, had settled over him.

Erik lifted the thing up and gazed at it. It looked very fine, simple but well-made. And it was a cape. Someone had worn this thing and in some way lost it. And it had drifted on the wind and found its way to him, like a message of comfort.

Erik shook his head in simple wonder at this strange thing. He sat, just gazing at the cape for a moment, his heaving chest slowly subsiding to a normal rhythm of breathing. He almost forgot his tears in surprise and curiosity at this small miracle.

Suddenly he sat up with a start. The owner of this cape must be searching for it. They were undoubtedly close by. They might find him, and it, and when they saw him…

Erik glanced around wildly. His eyes fell on the doorway in the side of a hill, still wide open like a mouth, but he couldn't bring himself to go back into that tunnel. What would he do there, eat the dirt and lurk there as he always had, until he died of thirst and hunger? He didn't particularly mind the thought of dying, but he would not die like that.

Erik heaved a great, shuddering sigh. If the owner of this cape found him, let them. He could hardly be worse off than he was now. And…a tiny, bitter smile broke over his face. They need not even see his face. Whoever had lost this garment had given him just what he needed. Surely they wouldn't miss a small section off this cape.

He reached into his pocket and thankfully, the small, handy knife he always carried was there. Erik drew it out and sliced off the very top portion of the cape, measuring with eyesight and mental math alone, making sure it had enough material to cover his face. He took great care to leave the little flaps on either side, the ones which would fasten the cape at the wearer's neck intact.

When he had finished, he surveyed his work with satisfaction. Another minute was spent in holding the section of purple cloth up to his face, and making sure it covered all his features. Then he cut out two eye holes, and tied the makeshift mask onto his face, tying it behind his ears. It fit him perfectly.

No one would ever shudder at him again. Erik did a little bit more trimming, cutting out two more small flaps so the wearer couldn't complain about the little he'd taken off, then surveyed the cape with satisfaction.

Suddenly, Erik shivered and then he had to frantically untie and yank off his mask so he could sneeze over his shoulder. He looked around and then he smiled again, bitterly. Running desperately for his life, he hadn't thought to grab anything but a torch, not even a cloak or an extra jacket.

Then he looked at the purple cape and shrugged. If the owner of the cape came along, they could have it. In the meantime, he intended to use it. Erik had nowhere to go, and he didn't even know where he was now.

So, he put his mask back on, then he scooped snow away with his hands until he had created a patch of bare, damp ground and stretched out on it. He drew the cape over him and curled up beneath it. Whoever it belonged to had a shorter, slenderer body than he did-he had to huddle up for it to cover him completely.

Erik had no idea how many hours he would lie awake, but soon his eyes grew heavy. He tried to fight it for a while, but then he let himself go and drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_A/N: I took a guess about how long Erik had been beneath the opera house. If somebody happens to do research and finds that I'm wrong, tell me. Don't sue me._

"Hello!"

Erik ignored the voice. He was too sleepy not to. If only they would leave him alone…he'd been asleep, finally forgetting it all…

Something like a stick poked his cheek, and he rubbed it languidly. "Go away," he groaned.

His body shivered with cold, and he reached out to tuck the cape more securely over him.

Wait. His cape. Where was the cape?

Erik opened his eyes, but instantly closed them with a groggy, inarticulate sound of pain and protest. Brilliant, searing light stabbing through his eyeballs and straight into his brain. He turned his face towards the ground and opened his eyes then, staring at the wet dirt.

"Hello!" Something tapped his shoulder, once, then twice, then again and again in an irksome constant beat.

"Go away," Erik snapped, swatting at his shoulder. The tapping stopped, mercifully, but the cheery voice did not.

"I'm Olaf. What's your name?"

"None of your business." Erik closed his eyes and lay back down on the dirt, rubbing his closed eyelids. Maybe, just maybe, if he lay here long enough, he could go to sleep again, and freeze so he wouldn't have to wake up.

That is, if this Olaf would _stop talking._

"What are you doing up here?"

Erik squeezed his eyes shut tighter, gritting his teeth. Maybe if he lay still, Olaf would leave him alone.

"Are you asleep?"

Erik resisted the impulse to say yes. That might defeat the purpose.

"Are you dead?"

At that, Erik clenched his fists. If he only had his noose now…Olaf had no idea how fortunate he was.

"Oh. Okay. Nope, I'm pretty sure you're not dead. His hands just moved." Olaf sounded as though he were talking to himself.

"What's your name?"

That did it. Erik sat bolt upright, forgetting momentarily about the light, and closing his eyes with a curse when his eyes brimmed instinctively with water.

"Why the devil won't you leave me alone?!"

"Oh! I'm sorry, am I bothering you?" Damn the voice. It sounded so innocent, so absurdly contrite and hurt. Erik wasn't going to be moved by this.

"What do you think?" he snarled. The sunlight wasn't assaulting his closed lids in quite such an agonizing flood. Erik could actually make out vague shifting tints in the darkness.

"Um…I…think so?"

Erik snorted. "You thought correctly."

He tried to open his eyes halfway.

His first impression was of bright, but not blinding sunlight. Erik kept his eyes half open and turned his head to look for a tall shadow of a man.

But instead, all he saw was vast white paleness, vague shapes, including a white one right in front of him. He paid no mind to it and kept turning. "Where in the name of hell _are_ you?"

"I'm right…what's hell?"

Erik began to make some snappish retort, but then the bland, innocent curiosity in the speaker's tone caught him up short.

"You don't know what hell is?"

"Well, I'm still new. Elsa only made me last night, and I haven't seen anybody else except you."

Erik's eyes widened involuntarily. "You-," he shook his head, but the action failed to dismiss the absurd statement from his mind.

What was this Olaf person? Was he mad? He had to be. No one-day-old infant could speak, and if a man (the speaker sounded male) believed he were one day old and didn't know what hell was in this day and age, he had to be out of his mind. As for the statement that someone named Elsa had _made_ him…Erik wasn't really eager to contemplate that. Maybe he meant his mother.

"Who is Elsa?" he finally settled on the least complex question. Antagonizing a madman, even one who seemed harmless, might be a bad idea.

He of all people ought to know _that._

As Erik spoke, he kept turning, squinting, desperate to see who and where Olaf was, and he began to notice the landscape around him.

The place he'd stumbled out of was evidently a cave in the side of a steep mountain. Off in the distance, he could see a forest-coated slope stretching into a vague gray-white-greenish expanse. Above him, he saw mountain stretching hundreds, thousands of yards towards the sky, with something glittering high up along one side.

Erik turned to the left. He saw nothing but more snow along the ground.

Then Erik turned to the right.

A short, white blocky figure less than half his height stood next to him, with the lost purple cape hanging from one arm…which appeared to be made from…wood, just like the other.

Then, a hole _opened _in the head-like lump, and Erik's world was turned upside down when the _voice, _the very same voice he'd heard since he woke up, came out of the creature's mouth.

"Elsa? She built me."

Erik was a cynic when it came to wonders.

His own parents had rejected him because of his face, and he'd grown up in a circus, scorned by all. No depth of cruelty could shock him; no wonders could stagger his mental capabilities. Most people wouldn't believe that _he, _and the underground labyrinth where he dwelt, could exist.

Thus, seeing what Olaf actually was, Erik did the proper thing for someone such as himself: he scrambled back on his heels as fast as he could, screaming at the top of his lungs.

* * *

"What's wrong and why are you waving that knife at me?"

It was the tenth time Olaf had repeated the question, but the first time that said question had actually percolated through Erik's panic-ridden brain.

"What are you?" His throat felt raw and if his heart were beating any harder, Erik felt like it would pound right out of his chest. Probably he was about to have a heart attack. And then maybe he might wake up in bed beneath the opera house and find it had all been a dream. If only. He should be so lucky.

Of course, the way his luck had always behaved, chances were he wouldn't be.

"Um…well, as far as I can tell, I'm a snowman." Olaf examined himself with cheerful interest, as if he still hadn't gotten tired of it. "What are you?"

Erik started to form a reply, but then he stopped dead. What _was _he? As a circus freak, he'd known exactly who and what he was. He didn't need the people and the overseer to tell him every day that he was a monster, a devil's child. They'd all said it, and he figured it must be true. But someday, he would escape this place, and hide where his devil father himself couldn't find him, and maybe he could become something new, make his own name. They would all be sorry. And for the last twenty years, he'd done exactly that. He'd become The Phantom of the Opera, signed all his letters O.G. Nobody saw him, but everyone knew his new name. He had become a living legend, the true owner and operator of the Opera Populaire. But he'd been driven out. The demon exorcised now wandered the abyss with nowhere to reside. He didn't even know _where _he was, and he could be certain that whatever godforsaken place he'd stumbled into, the name of the Opera Phantom wouldn't mean a thing.

_What are you?_

Erik shook his head to clear it. "I'm…I'm Mr. -," he thought quickly. The name he hadn't used for so many years…it could serve as a second mask. Nobody remembered it by now except Madame Giry, and she was miles away. And she would not tell.

_What if she did? How else did that infernal Count find your lair? How did the other men? No one else knew the secret, except possibly Christine…_

But that was too painful to contemplate.

"Erik." He pronounced the words with a strange feeling that he was talking about somebody else. "Erik…O.G."

"Erik Ogee." Olaf nodded sagely, then smiled and spread his stick arms wide. "I'm Olaf-,"

"You told me that," Erik muttered.

"Oh yeah, I did. And I like warm hugs!" Olaf looked up at Erik with a kind of eagerness that suggested he wished Erik to make the implied move.

Erik did not do so. He tugged his hands into his armpits and suppressed a shiver. "Where am I?"

"Um…not sure. I know it's a mountain." Olaf pointed upward. "Elsa's palace is that way."

"I don't care about Elsa, whoever she is," Erik snarled through his teeth. "Where can I find shelter?"

"Well, the nearest place is Elsa's palace." Olaf replied innocently.

"Marvelous," Erik muttered, and added a few choice words in a tongue he'd almost forgotten.

"What's that?"

"Nothing." Erik turned. "You're free to leave now," he added, imbuing his tone with heavy sarcasm.

"O…kay." Olaf looked around, and then began muttering to himself. "Let's see. Elsa's palace…that way. What's down there? Hmm. I've never been down that way."

He began to shuffle down the snowy slope towards the frosted forest below, talking to himself in that voice as he went.

Erik shook his head and turned his back, glad to be rid of that…that _thing_. What in God's name was that? How did he come to talk if he was made of snow?

He tried to recall the last time he'd seen a snowman. One time, when he was about ten years old, on Christmas morning, he peered out a window and saw children in the nearby square laughing, throwing snow at each other, and building strange lumpy people out of the white powder which coated the earth like an ermine wrap, and felt a strange longing to join them in that freedom and fun. But then the door opened, letting in a draft of chilly air, and he shuddered and fled to a hiding spot, until the Giry girl's voice called him out to receive the bit of Christmas goose she'd managed to smuggle to the opera house. Even on Christmas Day, she thought of him.

Erik snarled and tucked his arms tighter around himself, slogging upward. What was the point of remembering such things? They would only torment him with glimpses of when he'd come closer to happiness than he ever had or would, when he'd had a home. Now he had nothing, not even his dreams. He was nothing.

All at once, Erik realized that he'd been trudging steadily upward, in the direction Olaf had indicated as the way to Elsa's palace. Whoever the devil was Elsa? Olaf had mentioned something about her…making him. If he'd been an ordinary snowman, that would make sense. But…Erik's brain spun with possibilities. He simply tried to shove the whole issue to the back of his mind. It didn't make any difference anyway.

So why had he started slogging uphill again?

"Damn, damn, damn, damn," Erik gripped his thin hair and fisted his hands in it. "What is wrong with me?" he muttered, pacing back and forth in the snow.

A biting wind whipped his clothes about, and he realized, not for the first time, that he'd come woefully unprepared to deal with such weather. Last night he'd resigned himself placidly to the thought of death. But now he'd been awakened. His blood was pumping through his veins, chilling in his face and fingers and toes. He'd seen the sun, and he felt more alive today.

_God, am I so weak? I have nothing_ _left to live for. No wife, no love, no music, not even my wretched hiding place of a home. I could lie down in the snow and stay here until my bones froze, and _no one_ would care._

Erik stood, wavering, and found he'd started shivering. He had no reason to want to go on. What was the point? It would be far easier to just give up right now. There was no point in someone like himself fighting, idiotically clinging to the cruel joke men called life.

And yet, a tiny, almost extinguished little part of him kept repeating that he had to find shelter, at least temporarily, until he could eat and drink and get some warm clothes.

Erik brought himself up short. Warm clothes? Food? What was he thinking? He didn't want to live—most of him didn't.

He was a fool.

A low rumbling growl startled him. He glanced down at his belly, and recalled that he hadn't eaten since yesterday morning. He'd been too excited, too anxious, and then too busy, to eat the rest of the day, and he'd had no time last night.

_I suppose I could get some food, _Erik conceded. _If I'm going to die, I could at least do it on a full stomach. Then I could freeze without starving._

Erik suddenly realized the depth of this dark idiocy, and began to laugh. His laughter echoed through the sharp, brisk air like the strong laugh of a madman. He was thinking about eating so he could die with as much comfort as possible.

He really was insane. His situation had finally descended to such a level of pathos that everything became nonsense.

_Where could I even get food? I don't know who this Elsa is, but she wouldn't want to see me. And I don't belong in a palace._

Erik suddenly recalled his mask. A slight hint of smile began to quirk his lips upward. If no one saw his face, he could pose as anything, anyone. He might even be admitted to the dwellings of human beings without fear. So long as he made it clear that all he wanted was food and drink and leave to be on his way. It would make more sense to die here, anyway—where would he go? He didn't even know where he was. Olaf didn't know. Maybe Elsa might.

Erik hesitated, but then he realized that once he'd started planning what to say to Elsa and whoever else might be living in her "palace", he'd already made a decision. He reached up to make sure his mask was firmly in place, then began hiking up the steep slope.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**A/N: Okay, first of all, I apologize SO much for making you all wait over TWO MONTHS. I knew it had been awhile, but I didn't realize I made you wait that long. As I told you, I got caught up in another multichapter (which I'm still writing) and school started in August, so life has been somewhat busy.**

**However, I fully intend to make up for it now. I used to do my main writing for Mask-my other story-about once a week. (Or once every two weeks.) But now I'm going to try and alternate, work on first a chapter of this, then a chapter of Mask. It'll draw completion out for both, but at least you guys won't have to wait an ungodly amount of time, AGAIN, for your updates.**

**Please forgive me and continue to read and review! Thank you so much for all the support so far!**

* * *

The palace which should have been silent but for the noises its owner made suddenly echoed with the deep, barely audible sound of the massive front door sliding open.

A pale, slender hand froze on the ice goblet it had just spun out of thin air. Large blue eyes widened, and sharpened with a familiar alert fear.

The willowy body of the young woman turned in an instant. She gazed towards the doorway, then took a cautious step forward. Despite her effort, there was a limit to how quietly she could walk on ice.

Slowly, quietly, Elsa drew towards the door. Just within the opening, however, she hesitated. Inch by inch, she poked her head around the edge of the doorway. Finally, Elsa peered fully around the corner, then she stared. _Oh, no…_

A tall man dressed in black pants and a thin white shirt picked his way across the smooth floor of her front hall with remarkable ease. As he turned, Elsa saw a purple mask instead of facial features.

She ducked back into the shelter of the door, her mind and pulse racing. Who was this intruder, and why was he here? What did he want? Had she been discovered after all?

Glancing down, Elsa noticed the ice thickening on the floor at her feet. "Get it together," she muttered, pacing back and forth. "Calm down. It's okay. Calm down. _Conceal, don't feel. Conceal, don't feel_. _Con_-,"

"I hope I'm not disturbing you in your…meditations."

Elsa nearly shrieked at the deep sarcastic tone ringing through the silent room. She whirled, nearly tripping over her own skirt.

The masked man she saw downstairs mere moments ago now stood in the doorway less than five feet away.

* * *

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Elsa's voice rose in pitch with very other word. She could feel her power rushing through her, running in veins that thickened the ice at her feet, and she tried to choke it back.

_Conceal, don't feel. Conceal, don't feel. Conceal, DON'T FEEL._

"I was directed here, by a…person, named Olaf."

"Olaf?" Elsa frowned, suddenly distracted by the name. It tugged a distant memory, but before she had time to pursue it, the man continued—rather impatiently.

"Yes, Olaf. He said I could find food and shelter here. I'll just be here for a little while, so if you don't mind…,"

"Um…," Elsa thought furiously. So this man was just a stray traveler. If she gave him what he wanted, he woud leave.

"I also require some warm clothes," the man added with startling brusqueness which, somehow, did not offend Elsa. Strangely, his rude bluntness felt almost…refreshing.

And, it showed his genuine desire to travel on his way as soon as possible.

"Oh! Of course, I can get you some-," Elsa stopped. She'd created snow "food" for herself, and eaten it with no problem. But since this man didn't have her powers, could he subsist on snow? Elsa seriously doubted it.

"Ah…I'm afraid we don't have any food here…that you would care for." She smiled thinly, backing up a few steps, hoping the man wouldn't notice.

Dark gleaming eyes studied her through the eyeholes. The mask gave his face a frightening impassivity and lack of life.

"I have eaten _many _things, my good madam," he replied sardonically. "I assure you, I am quite capable of digesting any kind of edible food."

_Edibility_ is_ the problem, _Elsa thought but didn't dare say.

"Very well." She gave him a weak smile, and moved towards the door. "If you'll excuse me a moment, I'll go get you some food."

Wordlessly, the man stepped aside. Elsa hurried through the open doorway and down the stairs, trying not to look back or to feel the man's eyes following her.

When she reached the room where she'd created an ice table, Elsa spun a plate and a set of utensils out of ice. She then began to make an "apple" and a "pear" and a "roll" out of snow.

"While I appreciate the gesture, I would prefer not to eat snow."

Elsa whirled with a gasp of fear. Ice began forming on the floor again.

_Conceal, don't feel, Conceal, don't feel. Come on, control it!_

"I…don't know what you're talking about."

"Do you think I am a fool, girl?" The man all but snarled, stepping closer. His bearing held an unmistakable threat, and Elsa felt her powers prickling almost beyond her will.

"N-no. Please don't—don't be angry. I just-," Elsa abruptly stopped stuttering, for two reasons. One, she realized that she sounded like a frightened little girl cringing from a parent's rebuke, not the former queen of Arendelle, and the current queen of winter wastelands. Second, the man had stopped advancing on her seconds ago, and simply stood waiting for her to explain.

That alone seized her attention. His first concern didn't seem to be what he'd just caught her doing. He hadn't called Elsa a witch or a monster—yet. And he'd only gotten angry because she'd tried to lie to him, not because she had powers—she hoped.

"I'm-," Elsa took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. Lying would accomplish nothing at this point. All she could do was tell the truth, and hope for the best. And if she absolutely needed to, she _could_ defend herself.

"All right. Fine. I'll tell you everything. But you have to promise me that you won't reveal what you are about to hear—to _anyone_. Not to some stranger you meet along the road, not to your family—do you promise?"

The man's eyes narrowed a little and surveyed her thoughtfully. Elsa noted a surprisingly lack of anger or malice.

"I don't have any family to tell." The man averted his gaze and shook his head a little, as if clearing it of a cloud.

"Neither do I." The sentence was out before Elsa could think about it, but she thought, with a pang, that she had told the truth. "Except for a sister…but…she and I don't—talk anymore."

The thought of Anna produced a familiar ache, but a brief spark in the stranger's eyes told her all she needed. Plainly, he too understood what alienation meant.

It didn't exactly make Elsa happy, knowing this. But she still felt curiously lightened. She actually smiled, albeit sadly, at the masked man.

Thinking again of the mask made Elsa wonder why he kept that thing on even while indoors, where the cold (possibly a reason to wear it, outside) was less severe.

But then she remembered her gloves, and how skittish she'd felt about the whole issue, and decided not to ask. It was none of her business, anyway.

"So what is this great secret that it's so imperative I not tell _anyone_?" The man sounded mocking, only not in cruelty, but as if he wanted to sound sarcastic. His effort, however, felt rather hollow.

"So, do you promise to keep this visit, everything that we say and do, and the fact that I live here a secret?"

Dark, piercing eyes met hers with a frank honesty even Elsa could not doubt. "I promise."

Elsa exhaled. She'd never willingly shared her secret, even with Anna, so the effort of speaking felt almost suffocating. But somehow, she began to get the words out.

"I…well, I have the power—to make things, from ice and snow."

She expected the man to make some sort of sarcastic comment like, _Oh really? _But he didn't.

"I was…born with it." Talking came more and more easily now that the first sentence, heavy with years of shame and deceit and concealment, had passed Elsa's lips.

"My parents explained that since my parents drove the spirits of the trees out of their homes when they built their castle, they cursed my mother…while she was pregnant with me, and so…well, now I have these—abilities."

The man's mask shifted a little, as if he'd wanted to speak, but then he fell still.

"I tried to keep them a secret for a very long time, but finally…I couldn't. My parents were dead, and the city where I lived didn't want a freak, so I left. And now I live here." Elsa gestured around the room.

"I don't want to hurt anyone," she added as an afterthought. "And I don't need to live near people. I'm fine where I am, so long as nobody knows I'm here."

Watching the man's reactions, Elsa glimpsed a strange gambit of emotions running through his eyes. Something like sympathy began, and then a strange wild blaze, almost like hope followed. Then, however, a dark shadow fell over the flame. But still, Elsa could see a surprising amount of…understanding, she decided. Apparently the stranger identified with at least one aspect of her life.

Elsa sighed internally. It didn't matter. No matter how sympathetic this man might feel, no matter what they had in common, he wasn't going to stay. And he couldn't stay, in any case. She'd already hurt one person with her powers—possibly two, if the ambassador from Whistleton had broken or sprained anything in that fall. She didn't want to cause any more harm.

_And that's not including what I did to Anna…at least she's safe now. She'll never get hurt again._

_But _is_ she? What if all those people decide she's cursed, too, and run her out, or throw her in prison, or-_

Elsa shoved those thoughts to the back of her mind with a burst of will. Anna could prove that she didn't have her powers.

_But how?_

_There's nothing I can do. If I went back and defended her, it'd just make things worse. She has that Prince Hans to help defend her. He stayed with her when I was running out of the city. They're in "love"—at least he'll stick up for her. She can prove she doesn't have powers, somehow. She'll finally have someone. She can live her own life and be happy, now that I'm gone. Anna will be-_

"…wasn't my imagination."

"What?" Elsa blinked. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I said, the ice forming around you when I first spoke to you wasn't my imagination."

"Oh." Elsa flushed, and smiled rather awkwardly. "Yes…when I get upset or, or nervous, it's harder for me to control my powers."

"An inconvenient factor," the man commented.

Elsa laughed, and then clapped a hand over her mouth. The man looked a little startled, but not as startled as she felt. She couldn't recall how many days(weeks) ago she had laughed, really laughed out loud. Could it have been…months?

A mental check confirmed the truth, and Elsa felt rather dumbfounded. She'd never thought about that before. But it made all too much sense. She hadn't really had much to laugh about in her life, especially since her parents died. So little had gone on, every day leaving the same dull, lonely track. And then the past two days brought her enough excitement to make up for the past nearly-eleven years.

"What is your name?"

"Hmm?" Elsa started again, and again mentally rebuked herself for her inattention. "Oh. I'm Elsa."

"Elsa," the man repeated. The sound of her name in his rather odd accent sounded strange but, at the same time, undeniably pleasing.

"What's your name?" Elsa's heart nearly missed a beat as she realized she'd just told the hidden story of her entire sheltered life to a man whose name she didn't even know.

_I really have changed, _she thought.

"My name?" The man sounded startled, and considerably less eager.

"Yes. What's your name?"

The stranger hesitated. Elsa almost thought he would refuse to answer. At last, he spoke.

"My name is Erik."

* * *

**Sorries! But I'll give you another chapter very, very soon, and update at fairly regular intervals from now on! I PROMISE!**

**I created the story of how Elsa got her powers. They never explained it in the movie, so for the purposes of this story, I made one up. ****I also made up the fact that Elsa was seven at the time of the accident, and was crowned when she turned eighteen. Just roll with it.**


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